


Forgiven

by Moorishflower



Series: A Cold Academic Hell [33]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-27
Updated: 2011-07-27
Packaged: 2017-10-21 20:19:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/229358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moorishflower/pseuds/Moorishflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And it shouldn't have to be so hard to say / And I know that I don't have to use big words / And the longer I wait it gets harder to say / And I know that I don't have to use big words</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forgiven

Dean spends the whole day in his hotel room, only leaving that night because he has to go to work, and he’d feel bad if he called Bobby and cancelled on him. Jo and Ellen are there, which is odd, because Ellen usually works mornings and afternoons, not evenings. Jo’s eyes are ringed with dark circles. They both seem tired. Dean tiptoes around them, worried about screwing something up and setting off some sort of exhaustion-induced rage fit, but neither Ellen nor Jo seem up to beating him senseless with a wrench today.

Jo makes a few attempts to talk to him while they’re both buried elbow-deep in the guts of an ancient Lincoln someone brought in. “You should come with me and Sam to the Roadhouse.”

“Hm.” Dean prods disconsolately at the radiator with his screwdriver and says nothing.

“Sam had a lot of fun, I think.” Jo is blatantly lying. Sam wouldn’t have fun at a club if you paid him. Dean clenches his jaw. Any mention of Sam makes him feel strange and sad and angry, all at once. He pulls his near-blackened hands out of the Buick, using his (relatively) cleaner forearm to wipe the sweat from his forehead. Jo stares at him. She has a smudge of engine grease on her chin. “Didn’t he tell you about it?”

“Can we not talk about Sam?” Dean grabs the grease towel from the workbench, wiping down his arms and hands. He tosses it to Jo when he’s done. She’s staring at him.

“What happened?”

His jaw is starting to hurt. “Nothing.”

“Please, you look like someone just scratched your car. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Fuck off,” Dean spits out, throwing his screwdriver at the workbench with a loud clatter. Ellen looks up from where she had previously been working on the garage’s accounts.

“Dean Winchester!” Her voice is loud enough and angry enough to make Dean stop in his tracks. He stands there, staring at Jo, with his fists clenched at his sides and a tic threatening to start in his jaw. “You will not treat my daughter that way because of your own piss-poor mood! Apologize!”

Dean scuffs his foot against the ground, scowling. Jo is looking at him with an expression that’s not so much angry as it is…sad. “Did you know?” he asks quietly. “About Sam and Gabriel?”

Jo’s eyes widen. “Oh.” She bites her lip, glancing at her mother and shaking her head. “I…We only learned last night.”

“And neither of you thought to _call_ me?” Dean turns, intending to clock out early. He can’t take any more of this lying bullshit.

Jo grabs his wrist, holding on tight. “But you didn’t see them! They were so happy! And Gabriel’s so protective, it’s really sweet!”

“Dean,” Ellen speaks up. “What happened?”

Jo has yet to let go of his wrist. Slowly, she leads him over to the small office area where Ellen has been working. The two of them guide him into a chair and then perch on either side of him like bookends, or like unusually well-meaning vultures, and eventually Dean tells them, if only because he can’t stand being stared at like he’s something small and precious that needs protecting. Ellen frowns at him.

“You left because you found out? Or because Sam lied to you?”

“Because _everyone’s_ been lying to me. Castiel…”

“But,” Jo interrupts, “haven’t you been lying to Sam, too?”

“Castiel said that. I don’t see how it’s comparable, since Sam is more than ten years younger than Gabriel.”

Ellen snorts. “Please. Some of the stupidest decisions you’ve made have been within the past two years. Age isn’t an excuse once you reach a certain point, and Sam’s a smart boy. He’s always been smart. If he says that Gabriel cares for him, then I believe him.”

“And you didn’t see the last night,” Jo adds. “Sam was so different. Relaxed. And when this guy started hitting on him…”

“ _What_?”

“…Gabriel came and chased him off,” Jo finishes smoothly. “And he was a perfect gentleman about everything.”

“What if that’s only how it looks? What if he’s…God, I don’t know, promising Sam better grades? Or what if…”

“You need to have more faith in your brother,” Ellen says severely. Dean opens and closes his mouth a few times, and then settles for a frown. “I know you’ve practically raised that boy since he was a babe, but you can’t keep protecting him like he’s a child. It’s hard to accept that things have changed, but…” Ellen glances at Jo, her gaze softening. She smiles slightly. “That’s the burden of being a parent. You have to watch them grow up.”

Dean purses his lips, unhappy but not sure why, or what he can say to express it. Jo touches him on the shoulder.

“Talk to Sam,” she urges him. “Hear his side of the story. Ask him why he lied, and remember that _you_ lied, too. Everyone’s to blame here. It’s probably best just to let things go.”

“Castiel called me this morning,” Dean murmurs. “He said that Gabriel wanted to talk to me.”

“Then talk to him,” Ellen says. “Try and learn the whole story before jumping to conclusions like an idiot.”

Dean manages to crack a smile. “You calling me an idiot?”

Ellen lightly cuffs him over the head. “And if I were? Get your ass out of here and go apologize to your brother. I’ll cover for you.”

“I don’t want to miss any more work,” Dean protests, and Ellen snorts.

“Boy, you’re like a son to Bobby. If I tell him you had to leave ‘cause of a family emergency, he’ll grumble about it but you won’t punish you.”

Dean runs his fingers back through his hair, standing and nodding at Jo, and then at Ellen. He squares his shoulders. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says, and Jo reaches up and rubs her thumb across Dean’s cheek; it comes away black.

“Might want to wash up first,” she says, and Dean scowls and hurries back out to the garage and the sink that’s always well stocked with Greased Lightning.

~

The energy and conviction of earlier is hard to imitate once Dean is actually back at the hotel. He sits on his bed – unmade, since he’d hung that do not disturb sign on the door – and scrubs his palms over his cheeks, trying to figure out if this is something he wants to do. If it’s something he _should_ do. He sighs heavily. _Should_ is more important than _want_ , isn’t it? He should call Sam. He should call Sam and…and apologize, explain why he was so angry, explain that Sam lying to him is the one thing he can’t stand because Sammy is all that he has left, and if they can’t be honest with each other than…than what’s the point of being a family at all? Family is supposed to make you miserable, sure, that’s what family’s about, but you’re also supposed to be able to trust them.

Dean presses the heels of his palms against his closed eyes, grimacing. _Each other_. Family is supposed to tell the truth to _each other_. Everyone’s been mentioning it to him – Jo and Ellen, Sam, even Cas – but he hasn’t really…thought about it: he lied, too. He lied because he was worried that Sam would think he was trying to cheat on his classes somehow, and he was worried that Sam would think poorly of him for having a relationship with one of his professors.

Was Sam worried, too? About Dean overreacting, of course, but also about Dean not approving? Dean thinking badly of him? He’d thought he’d addressed that a long time ago, he’d thought that Sam knew that Dean would never hate him, not for anything, but…maybe not.

Eyes still closed, Dean gropes towards the nightstand until his fingers manage to hook his phone. He pulls it to his chest, flipping it open and scrolling through his recent calls. Castiel is near the top. Biting his lip, Dean presses the _call_ button, then holds the phone to his ear and listens. He’s almost holding his breath.

The phone rings twice, and then picks up. “Dean?”

“Hey, Cas.” The breath rushes out of him all at once, and he can almost picture Castiel’s puzzled frown. He doesn’t comment on it though.

“Have you and Sam…?”

“That’s what I’m calling about. You said that…Gabriel wanted to talk to me?”

“And explain his intentions, yes. Although I feel I should warn you, he is…angry.”

“Angry? What the fuck is he angry about?”

“He feels that you have hurt Sam.”

“Shit,” Dean says, because that’s…that’s sort of true, isn’t it? Sam’s sure as hell not happy right now, and it’s because Dean walked out instead of staying and talking. “Okay, I get it. Just, is he there? Right now?”

“Gabriel is here, yes.”

“Then I’m coming over.”

“Dean…”

“No, it’s cool. You can be the mediator, make sure we don’t strangle each other, and we’ll…talk. I only know this guy as an asshole, Cas. I want to try and see what Sam sees in him.”

There’s a long silence, and then Castiel says, “Very well. I will inform him that you are on your way.”

Dean murmurs his thinks, says good-bye, and then hangs up. He stares at the phone for what feels like ages.

Then, groaning at the aches in his limbs, he grabs his keys and his wallet from the nightstand and he heads out.

~

Castiel stays in the room as a mediator, standing ominously in the kitchen doorway while Gabriel and Dean sit across from each other with their hands placed diplomatically on the table, their fists tellingly unclenched. Gabriel is wearing some sort of lounge getup that involves a lot of silk and slippers that look like they cost more than Dean makes in a week. His hair is swept perfectly back from his temples, still faintly damp; did he take a shower before Dean arrived? Did he shower _because_ of Dean? He looks down at his hands and forearms, still spotted with engine grease in some places. He wonders if he smells as bad as he looks. Probably. Dismantling cars is sweaty work.

“So,” Gabriel says, and Dean looks up again. He has to resist the urge to lunge across the table and punch this smug asshole right in the face. Luckily, Castiel is standing there, ready to stare disapprovingly at him if he does anything untoward. Castiel might not be terribly intimidating _physically_ , but his disapproval is just as, if not more, terrifying than the idea of his fists.

“So,” Dean repeats. He struggles to keep his hands loose. He presses his palms flat against the table and tries not to grit his teeth. “You and…and Sam.”

“Me and Sam,” Gabriel agrees.

Castiel clears his throat meaningfully, and Gabriel rolls his eyes.

“Look,” he says, “you need to man up, stop being a douche, and apologize to Sam.”

“ _Excuse_ me?”

“Gabriel,” Castiel warns, but it doesn’t seem to have any effect.

“So he lied! Big fuckin’ deal, it’s not like you’re a paragon of virtue in this scenario. Suck it up and accept that we’re together.”

“You’re fifteen years older than him!”

“Uh, _thirteen_ , thank you, and so what? He’s a grown man, he can decide for himself who he wants to date. He doesn’t need your or anyone’s approval to be happy.”

“I’m not worried about him being happy, I’m worried about you taking advantage of him!”

Gabriel spreads his arms out wide, sneering. “Taking advantage? You’ve seen your brother, he’s twice my size! And it’s not like I’m actually his _professor_ or something.”

“ _Gabriel_ ,” Castiel snaps, and Gabriel lowers his arms, looking…guilty? Dean feels some of the anger simmering in his chest abate. Not all of it, but…some.

“Maybe you _should_ worry about him being happy,” Gabriel mutters. “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do? Make sure he’s happy?”

“I’m supposed to protect him.”

“Are the two mutually exclusive?”

“I…” Dean raises his hands, pressing them to his cheeks and exhaling harshly. He digs his thumbs against his temples, trying to will away the headache threatening to grow there. “I want him to be happy.” _You can’t keep protecting him like he’s a child._

“Then let him do his own thing. Let him…make mistakes, and get so drunk he pukes, and wear unflattering clothes. Let him kiss someone and not remember it the next day. Let him live his own life.”

Dean opens his eyes. Gabriel is leaning across the table, expression earnest. Dean blinks.

“Do you love him?” he demands, and Gabriel leans back again, frowning.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“I don’t see what that has to do with…”

“Answer the goddamn question.”

Gabriel stares at him. He slowly glances to the side, clearing his throat uncomfortably.

“If I _did_ ,” he says, “you wouldn’t tell a single living soul outside this room, or else I’d rip your balls off and feed them to you.”

That’s a good enough answer for Dean. He lets his head fall back, groaning softly at the way his spine creaks. A moment later a shadow falls over him, and strong hands rest on his shoulders, fingers digging into the skin. Dean opens his eyes to find Castiel staring down at him.

“I thought you were mad at me,” he says, and Castiel shrugs. He works his thumbs against the back of Dean’s neck, eliciting a groan.

“You have seen so much hardship in your life, Dean. I understood your anger, even if I did not think it was warranted.”

“But you were mad at me.”

“Yes.” Castiel leans down, breath hot against Dean’s ear as he kisses the curve of his neck. “But I got over it.”

“Am I allowed to go now?” Gabriel complains, more than a hint of a whine in his voice, and Dean grits his teeth. Something about the guy still rubs him the wrong way, but Dean can also remember the first time he’d ever met Gabriel. How the first thing he’d done was to give Dean a Tootsie Roll.

He could like this guy. He _could_.

If only for Sam’s sake.

“You may go and get dressed,” Castiel says, his nose brushing against Dean’s ear. “It is important that Sam sees that you and Dean have come to an agreement.”

“Aw, c’mon, firefly, can’t I just…”

“No, you cannot _just_. Go and dress.” There’s a finality to Castiel’s tone that brooks no argument, and Gabriel only manages to sit and pout for a minute or so before Castiel’s stare gets him moving. Dean tilts his head back, lifting his hands, intending to run them through Castiel’s hair. He pauses when he sees the grease smears still dotting his skin. His arms are left raised, but without anything to do.

“Firefly?” he asks, and begins to lower his hands. Castiel stops him by grabbing his wrist, pressing a kiss to the back of Dean’s hand.

“An old nickname. It is not of import.”

“The hell it’s not. You get to know me, I get to know you.”

Castiel sighs, dragging out the chair that Gabriel had vacated and sitting down in it. Dean’s shoulders feel abruptly tense again. “Hey,” he says, and swallows. “If it’s…I don’t mean that you have to tell me. If it’s too personal…”

“I would have thought that you’d have realized by now.” Castiel stares at him, eyes gentle. “I want nothing more than to know everything about you. It is only fair that I extend to you the same courtesy. You already know that Gabriel and I were the…black sheep of our family. While Michael and Raphael were studying, and while Lucifer was being tutored, we would go outside every night and play.”

“Hang on, _Lucifer_? What kind of name is that?”

“My family is very religious.”

“I _guess_. All right, go on. What’d you two get up to?”

“Many things. Our house was surrounded by woods and streams, and so there were whole weeks when we did nothing but explore. Gabriel enjoyed climbing trees and hiding things among the branches, especially things that he knew Lucifer or one of our cousins would try to take from him. I liked to divert the streams and make puddles for us to splash in.”

“What’s this got to do with your nickname?”

“I am telling the story, not you.” Castiel grabs Dean’s hand again, running his thumb over Dean’s knuckles. “During the summer, our favorite thing to do was to go outside, after it had gotten dark, and set off firecrackers. I was still very young, and much of the world was a mystery to me. Gabriel told me that the point of small firecrackers was to enjoy the sound and the destruction, but I was fascinated by the light. He had to keep me from picking up the lit firecrackers more than once.”

“No sense of self preservation, huh?”

“Apparently not. He tells me that when he asked me why I was so intent on holding the firecrackers while they were lit, I told him that I wanted to be a firefly.”

“You wanted to _be_ a firefly?”

“Yes. I wanted to have that glow to myself, but more than anything, I wanted to…” Castiel falls silent for a long moment, and Dean nudges him with his foot beneath the table. Castiel takes a deep breath. “I wanted to be able to fly.”

Dean shrugs. “Isn’t that pretty standard, though? When I was a kid, I wanted to be Batman. It’s not that much different.”

“You do not understand. My family would never have approved of such…frivolity. I was expected to show an interest in medicine, or politics…Not in firecrackers and useless daydreams.”

“Yeah, well…don’t take this the wrong way, but your family sounds like it’s full of dicks.”

“You have expressed such sentiment before, but…they are not so bad as that.”

“That’s because they’re your family. You always forgive family, no matter what they do.”

Castiel stares down at Dean’s hand, thumb moving restlessly. He opens his mouth, as though about to say something.

“Ladies!”

He’s interrupted by the sound of Gabriel thundering down the stairs, dressed, thankfully, in actual clothes this time around. “Sorry to break up the circle of emotional healing, but I’m ready to go. Come on, big boy, let’s vamoose.” Gabriel claps his hand on Dean’s shoulder, prompting a grimace.

“Gabriel is correct,” Castiel murmured. “We should leave. Sam has waited long enough for your forgiveness.”

Castiel stands, pulling Dean to his feet as well. He’s smiling. It’s only slight, but still there.

“Let me get your coat,” Castiel says, and Dean smiles back.


End file.
